OMG guys, you won’t believe what happened to me today. I mean, really. Have you ever played that game where you pick up a book, open up a page, read the first line, and decide that that’s going to be your fate for the day? So, I pick up this book - The God of Small Things by Arundathi Roy - and I open a totally random page and I read the first line and damn. “The fate of the wretched Man-less Woman,” it said.
This is what I call ‘the Big Man’s joke’.
It’s so true, you know. It’s like my horoscope for the entire year. I mean, what are the odds? I own like five books, most of them from secondary school, and I still have to start my day with a reality check. It’s like the universe hates me. It wants me to suffer. It wants me to know that I am suffering. Uh!
I would totally be okay with the Universe hating on me, but it’s bad enough dealing with all the cats that hate me as it is. Like, guys, have you ever met an accent hater? When I’m in America, I speak with somewhat of an American accent. When I am in Pakistan, I speak in a more proper and pronounced manner, in line with my British-English schooling. Do I do it on purpose? No. Am I trying to fit in with my American buddies? No dummies, all American have now conformed to prefer uniqueness to uniformity. I’m sure if I went to Canada, I’d stop pronouncing my u’s altogether.
Accent haters are bad, but skinny haters are the worst. These guys starve themselves all day only to binge at night, call themselves healthy, and hate on thin people like myself. Please stop taking diet pills and Oreo shots and visit the gym.
FYI, I work out.
I’m skinny, but I’m healthier than you are. I can open a jar of honey all by myself, which is more than what you can do. I also don’t eat two naans in one night and then complain about how skinny girls look like hangers. P.S. that’s the same thing as saying that fat girls look like potatoes. It’s just not cool.
Afternoon tea at the Churri household can easily turn into a catfight of the minds, especially on Fridays. To celebrate the end of the workweek, the GT clan often takes a break from its TV dramas and its conference calls to actually meet in person and inquire about each other’s personal lives. Members of the GT clan thoroughly enjoy these sessions, even though they usually leave feeling restless, jealous, or upset. It is no secret that the members aren’t too fond of each other, or of each other’s daughters. Sharing secrets can frequently lead to bad rumors, unforeseen incidents, or silent attacks at each other’s well being. Despite being aware of these risks, the GT clan continues to share and to loathe, to offer bad advice on purpose, and to trust each other knowing that their trust will inevitably be broken. I try my best not to be home on such Fridays, but this particular week, orders were slow and I was handed over the task of setting up the trolley for tea. I had become used to setting up the trolley, and mechanically went through the steps of taking out the finest china, setting up the prettiest doilies, and creating a magnificent display of tarts and treats. As I escorted my trolley into the room, I saw the GT clan’s smile grow bigger. Its eyes began to pop out, and I even saw a tiny glimmer of a tear begin to appear. I instantly realised my folly. I had finally passed the trolley test, but on the wrong occasion. My life was about to be destroyed.
What is a trolley? A trolley is a transport vehicle, such as an electronic bus, a train car, or even a shopping cart, that is usually used to carry heavy loads. But that’s not the trolley I’m talking about. I’m talking about the trolley that you instantly pictured in your head when you started reading this paragraph - two trays on four wheels used to transport food and drinks from the kitchen to the fancy drawing room. Correct, this trolley is also usually used to transport a heavier load, but it’s not as reliable as perhaps a tramcar when it comes to delivery.
So, how do you pass the notorious trolley test? I honestly have no idea. But I do have some helpful tips for young ladies (and their mothers) who have decided to take a more traditional approach to marriage.
Mistake Number 1: It’s not the trolley, it’s you. Yes ladies, the success of your delivery has nothing to do with your trolley. You can import your trolley from Madagascar, or buy it from Al-Fatah, or fashion it by chopping off a tree and carving it using your servant’s own bare hands. It doesn’t matter. Fix yourself.
Mistake Number 2: Honesty is not the best policy. In this regard, it is of utmost importance that you outrageously misrepresent yourself. Remember, if you believe, then it is true.
Mistake Number 3: Maneuvering the trolley. Practice makes perfect ladies. The trolley should become an extension of your body. Never lose control.
I myself have decided to abandon my old ways and marry for true love alone. Why else should I marry? I mean, what does marriage even mean? Money? Family? Kids? Independence? Citizenship? Love? According to Madam Faiza, it’s a simple solution to a very big problem.
Sitting on a large sofa that sunk too low under the weight of her body, Madam Faiza pulled out a cigarette from her sunglass case. “Marriage!” she exclaimed. “I can tell you one thing. I would be SO much happier if I was single now. Mind you, it’s important to be married once, when you are young and pretty and under 25, but after 45, it’s useless.” She then complained about how her husband screamed at the air conditioner last night, and then at her. “Marriage”, she continued, “is a test of how clever you really are. Marry for love, yes, but only love those who can give you the life you want.”
Zara C. Churri lives in Lahore
This is what I call ‘the Big Man’s joke’.
It’s so true, you know. It’s like my horoscope for the entire year. I mean, what are the odds? I own like five books, most of them from secondary school, and I still have to start my day with a reality check. It’s like the universe hates me. It wants me to suffer. It wants me to know that I am suffering. Uh!
I would totally be okay with the Universe hating on me, but it’s bad enough dealing with all the cats that hate me as it is. Like, guys, have you ever met an accent hater? When I’m in America, I speak with somewhat of an American accent. When I am in Pakistan, I speak in a more proper and pronounced manner, in line with my British-English schooling. Do I do it on purpose? No. Am I trying to fit in with my American buddies? No dummies, all American have now conformed to prefer uniqueness to uniformity. I’m sure if I went to Canada, I’d stop pronouncing my u’s altogether.
Accent haters are bad, but skinny haters are the worst. These guys starve themselves all day only to binge at night, call themselves healthy, and hate on thin people like myself. Please stop taking diet pills and Oreo shots and visit the gym.
FYI, I work out.
I’m skinny, but I’m healthier than you are. I can open a jar of honey all by myself, which is more than what you can do. I also don’t eat two naans in one night and then complain about how skinny girls look like hangers. P.S. that’s the same thing as saying that fat girls look like potatoes. It’s just not cool.
***
Afternoon tea at the Churri household can easily turn into a catfight of the minds, especially on Fridays. To celebrate the end of the workweek, the GT clan often takes a break from its TV dramas and its conference calls to actually meet in person and inquire about each other’s personal lives. Members of the GT clan thoroughly enjoy these sessions, even though they usually leave feeling restless, jealous, or upset. It is no secret that the members aren’t too fond of each other, or of each other’s daughters. Sharing secrets can frequently lead to bad rumors, unforeseen incidents, or silent attacks at each other’s well being. Despite being aware of these risks, the GT clan continues to share and to loathe, to offer bad advice on purpose, and to trust each other knowing that their trust will inevitably be broken. I try my best not to be home on such Fridays, but this particular week, orders were slow and I was handed over the task of setting up the trolley for tea. I had become used to setting up the trolley, and mechanically went through the steps of taking out the finest china, setting up the prettiest doilies, and creating a magnificent display of tarts and treats. As I escorted my trolley into the room, I saw the GT clan’s smile grow bigger. Its eyes began to pop out, and I even saw a tiny glimmer of a tear begin to appear. I instantly realised my folly. I had finally passed the trolley test, but on the wrong occasion. My life was about to be destroyed.
Practice makes perfect, ladies. The trolley should become an extension of your body
***
What is a trolley? A trolley is a transport vehicle, such as an electronic bus, a train car, or even a shopping cart, that is usually used to carry heavy loads. But that’s not the trolley I’m talking about. I’m talking about the trolley that you instantly pictured in your head when you started reading this paragraph - two trays on four wheels used to transport food and drinks from the kitchen to the fancy drawing room. Correct, this trolley is also usually used to transport a heavier load, but it’s not as reliable as perhaps a tramcar when it comes to delivery.
So, how do you pass the notorious trolley test? I honestly have no idea. But I do have some helpful tips for young ladies (and their mothers) who have decided to take a more traditional approach to marriage.
Mistake Number 1: It’s not the trolley, it’s you. Yes ladies, the success of your delivery has nothing to do with your trolley. You can import your trolley from Madagascar, or buy it from Al-Fatah, or fashion it by chopping off a tree and carving it using your servant’s own bare hands. It doesn’t matter. Fix yourself.
Mistake Number 2: Honesty is not the best policy. In this regard, it is of utmost importance that you outrageously misrepresent yourself. Remember, if you believe, then it is true.
Mistake Number 3: Maneuvering the trolley. Practice makes perfect ladies. The trolley should become an extension of your body. Never lose control.
I myself have decided to abandon my old ways and marry for true love alone. Why else should I marry? I mean, what does marriage even mean? Money? Family? Kids? Independence? Citizenship? Love? According to Madam Faiza, it’s a simple solution to a very big problem.
***
Sitting on a large sofa that sunk too low under the weight of her body, Madam Faiza pulled out a cigarette from her sunglass case. “Marriage!” she exclaimed. “I can tell you one thing. I would be SO much happier if I was single now. Mind you, it’s important to be married once, when you are young and pretty and under 25, but after 45, it’s useless.” She then complained about how her husband screamed at the air conditioner last night, and then at her. “Marriage”, she continued, “is a test of how clever you really are. Marry for love, yes, but only love those who can give you the life you want.”
Zara C. Churri lives in Lahore